


Venice III

by Thimblerig



Series: The Lion and the Serpent [9]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Dubious Water Safety, Gen, I got my research from The Google.Com, Snippet FIc, Unsatisfactory Conversations, secrets and lies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 07:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5196635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/pseuds/Thimblerig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"We never found you at Douai."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Venice III

"We never found you at Douai."

"You find me here," Aramis offered.

The sun was fierce that day but, at his vantage on the high Bridge of Sighs, the ample breeze carried away any sweat as soon as it formed. He kept his seat on the pale stone, perched comfortably on the scrollwork of the very edge, and let one foot kick against the stone. It was a fine view of the canal below, that ran straight as a blue green ribbon between the high stone walls that were the Doge's Palace and the New Prison. Aramis smiled at the boat that stalled below him, and at the passengers in it.

They were not themselves so cheerful: a youth, lithe and bronze as a young fox and wrapped in a cloak too warm for the climate, struggled with the long oar of the gondola, trying to slow its passage against the current, while a big man, dark of face, entirely failed to look like a civilian in Venetian slops and a doublet two years too old to be fashionable. He stood in the light craft, balanced easily as a sailor or a master wrestler. They had almost gone past, rowing for the open water ahead, but then, as if he had felt Aramis' eyes on the back of his neck like the heat of the sun, the big man had stopped, and turned, and raised his head. 

Which led to the central thesis of a conversation which promised to be unsatisfactory to all involved parties.

Down on the water d'Artagnan swore again at the long oar as their gondola started to swing athwart the current. "Damn this spiky thing. One day I'll take you to Gascony, Porthos, you'll see, I'm a demon in a coracle." His companion frowned, back stiff and shoulders straight in the uncertain fit of his second-hand doublet. His generous mouth curved down in a half-circle as he stared up at Aramis, where the former musketeer, in glittering black and billowing, pleated linen, lounged on the bridge so languid and elegant, hair curling about his ears, where only the stillness of the marksman's open hands betrayed his focus.

"Douai is a busy city," Aramis called down easily. "Perhaps you were looking in the wrong place."

Porthos' mouth worked as if there was a nasty flavour on his tongue. "We went to the English College, where they train the martyrs," he said, "An' every other like place in town. We tried under a few skirts, too. No Mr Pretty trailing hearts like kites. No records, either, not even under your birth name."

Aramis leaned forward, but at last said, with a shrug, "Then perhaps I did not go there."

"Enough games!"

"Porthos," d'Artagnan muttered, low but urgent, "it's almost noon."

"Whatever it is you've been up to," said the big man, dangerously, "come down, Aramis."

"I like the view," Aramis answered, "and our last dealings were so joyous that my heart might burst from a reprise."

Porthos clenched his fists. From his own vantage, d'Artagnan could see him trembling. "You gotta problem with our dealings?"

"My hands were bound," Aramis said very sweetly.

"You were falling off the horse," volunteered d'Artagnan, desperately working the oar.

"I'd been beaten," Aramis added.

"... These things happen... ?"

"So they do. Have you been following me?"

"I don't have time for this," muttered Porthos, staring up at the bridge as the boat turned.

"Neither do I," said Aramis, and drew up his legs, uncoiling himself in one swift motion. He swayed to the side and came up with a gun with a ludicrously long barrel. For a moment - only a moment - d'Artagnan almost thought that he would point it at them. But he only touched two fingers of his free hand to his temple in a mocking salute.

Just then their slowly turning craft was hit by another boater in distress, a small brown woman wrapped in a forget-me-knot blue shawl, who wailed as they rocked and swayed and spun about each other. By the time oars were untangled and nobody was going to drown, Aramis had disappeared and his direction - to prison or palace - was unclear.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, hey, it's those guys.
> 
>  _the Bridge of Sighs_ \- this place: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bridge_of_Sighs He probably shouldn't oughta be up there.
> 
>  _"Douai is a busy city."_ \- Douai is an odd place to go for somebody professing a desire to retire from the world. It isn't an isolated monastery but a city - in Spanish territory no less - and includes the English College, a seminary dedicated to training stealth priests to sneak into Protestant England to hold masses etc. etc. and occasionally get martyred by folk who also take their religion seriously. The College used to ring a bell for those of its graduates who met an untimely end. So... why did Aramis plan to go there? For the College? Some other seminary in the city? Why in the Spanish Nederlands instead of sticking with France...? _Why Douai?_
> 
>  _"I'm a demon in a coracle."_ \- a coracle is a tiny round or oval-shaped craft woven out of wicker and water-proofed with leather or canvas. I've got no idea if they were actually used in Gascony (my Google-fu has failed me), but they're the sort of thing someone on a farm might whip together to go fishing in the river. If it bothers you, feel free to substitute some other small water craft that the long-legged Luke Pasqualino can perch in like a praying mantis while wielding a single paddle.
> 
>  _"... not even under your birth name."_ \- book!Aramis used a _nom de guerre_ , having joined the Musketeers after an unfortunate matter of winning a duel (decisively, you might say) and needing to lay low. There's a fair amount of difference between book and show versions (one major divergence being that this guy went to the army as a youth, instead of joining the seminary like his dad wanted him to), but I see no reason not to keep this bit, that the name on his birth record is Rene d'Herblay.


End file.
